


Heartbreak is Savvy (Love is a Bitch)

by KitLaBelle



Series: Hell Hath No Fury [3]
Category: Black Sails
Genre: Alternate Universe - Teen Wolf (TV) Fusion, Asexual Character, BAMF John, Banshees, Emissaries, F/F, F/M, Female John Silver, Feral Behavior, Fix-It of Sorts, Gen, Hunters & Hunting, Implied/Referenced Character Death, Implied/Referenced Rape/Non-con, John Silver is a Little Shit, M/M, Many Other Mythological Creatures, Multi, Other, POV Multiple, Pack, Pirates of the Caribbean References, Rape/Non-con Elements, Rule 63, Slow Build, Sparks, Taking Liberties With History, Werewolf Captain Flint | James McGraw, Werewolves, Witches, so much UST
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-08-19
Updated: 2021-01-11
Packaged: 2021-03-06 04:27:31
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 8
Words: 11,532
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25987390
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/KitLaBelle/pseuds/KitLaBelle
Summary: A quick set of one-shots in theHell Hath No Furyseries, each with a different POV, leading right up to the beginning of Season 3.
Relationships: Abigail Ashe & Billy Bones, Anne Bonny/"Calico" Jack Rackham, Captain Flint | James McGraw/John Silver, Eleanor Guthrie/Charles Vane
Series: Hell Hath No Fury [3]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1688605
Comments: 11
Kudos: 30





	1. Rackham

**Author's Note:**

> So it’s funny, but if you look at the history incorporated into _Black Sails_ , almost all of the first two seasons occurred in the first half of the year 1715, from just before Easter to just after June, when the _Urca_ sank in a storm and Charles Town burned. And then at the beginning of the third season, you have Flint ransacking towns all along the Carolina and Georgia coast – which actually happened, but not consecutively, and not by one man – and the coming of Woodes Rogers to Nassau. Historically Governor Rogers didn’t come to New Providence until 1718. So what happened in the years between? With our Silver and Flint, the wolves and changes to this AU so far, I’ve added a dash of _Pirates of the Caribbean_ to the mix. Enjoy the UST. (OMG the UST. Kill me.)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Bless Jack.

_It lies not in our power to love or hate,_

_For will in us is overruled by fate._

_When two are striped, long ere the course begin,_

_We wish that one should love, the other win;_

_And one especially do we affect_

_Of two gold ingots, like in each respect:_

_The reason no man knows; let it suffice_

_What we behold is censured by our eyes._

_Where both deliberate, the love is slight:_

_Who ever loved, that loved not at first sight?_

_~_ Christopher Marlowe

* * *

**_August 1715 – Nassau, New Providence Island_ **

Nassau was in a state of suspended anticipation from the moment the _Revenge_ left its harbor until Jack Rackham returned with the _Fancy_ , the _Colonial Dawn_ and the _Walrus_ in tow, all three heavily laden with what was rumored to be the golden treasure hoard of the _Urca_ , but he refused to unload it until Flint and Silver returned, and couldn’t be persuaded otherwise. His cohorts, Featherstone and Bonny, with the inclusion of the new Mister Jacob Garret, were fearsome enough that none of the other captains wanted to challenge him so long as the threat of Vane and Flint, and the violence they were both known for, hovered on the horizon. News that the Honorable Richard Guthrie had been arrested and taken to Kings Town by the _Scarborough_ was enough to send Eleanor’s collusion of captains into hiding and the merchants of Nassau into a dither. The young pirate princess had yet to be seen, but speculation had her hiding inland until Vane returned to protect her.

In the combined absence of two Thrones from the Council of Nassau, Misters Holland and Scott did what they could to control the fear rampant among the beach town. Mister Scott committed what may have been the single most responsible act he’d done since turning his back on Eleanor Guthrie had got him shackled in chains onboard the _Andromache_ ; he went to his brother Able and asked his advice, who in turn pointed the man to his very capable apprentice, Max.

Being madam, if not mistress, of the only brothel in town allowed Max to have her finger on the pulse of the street, so she knew when to appease the mob, and when to crack down on them, and when to let the rumors run rampant almost instinctually. With her advice, Holland and Scott were able to wrest a calm over the town until a fisherman from Tortuga brought news. Stories of the sacking of Charles Town had already spread throughout the southern trade routes and ships of all flags gave the _Revenge_ a wide berth.

A thread of excitement ran through the populace of Nassau. With the imminent return of their pirate leaders, the mystery of the _Urca_ gold could be solved and the near madness that amount of money caused would be somewhat calmed.

When the Spanish Man of War was finally spotted offshore, making her slow, ponderous way into Nassau Harbor, it was a trio of very worried people who stood watch on the jetty; Rackham, Bonny and Max. Higher up the beach, situated comfortably in chairs and under eaves, were Scott, Holland, and the rest of the pirate brotherhood sniffing like sharks for blood in the water. When the _Revenge_ finally dropped anchor and the activity onboard went from sailing to disembarking, the tension on the beach could be cut with a knife. Rackham specifically would not hold still, tapping a beat on the wooden planks with a booted toe, striding from one end to the other, or capriciously biting his nails until Bonny glared at him and he settled for a moment before he was off again.

Max twisted from her position at the end of the jetty, keeping an elbow planted on the top of a pillar for balance. “Why are you so keyed up, Jack? The ship is back, and from the looks of it, they were not in a firefight.”

“You didn’t feel it,” Rackham mumbled, referring to the wave of _something_ that had caught every supernatural creature off guard several days ago. “Something’s changed, and it worries me that we haven’t seen or heard from Vane yet.”

Bonny snorted. “You mean it worries you that he hasn’t come back to put you in your place, yet.”

“Half a dozen of one, and six of the other,” Rackham quipped, biting his fingernails again. “If that man’s gone and gotten himself killed, I’ll-”

“You’ll what?” Bonny huffed in her gravel voice. “Mourn him for a day or two before trying to figure out how to use his reputation to boost your own?”

“Why do you wound me so, darling?” Rackham whined, not taking his eyes off the longboats that were being lowered to the water from the _Revenge_. “What could I have possibly done to make you wish such anguish upon my person?”

“Running us straight into the mouths of those Spaniards comes to mind,” Bonny crossed her arms, her sharp eyes catching movement on the deck.

“I told you!” Rackham spun to face her. “You knew what we’d been told! You could have warned me otherwise!”

“Shut up,” Max straightened, seeing one longboat make swiftly in their direction. “Something’s wrong.”

Both Rackham and Bonny joined her at the edge of the jetty. The longboat from the _Revenge_ wasn’t being rowed by regular seamen, but by Billy and Flint themselves, and they weren’t taking any pains to go slow for the benefit of any normal humans watching, but pulling through the water at a strength and speed that most men would be hard pressed to match. In the bow was a figure huddled in a blanket and being held by someone who looked remarkably like Silver, but even from this distance was too soft and delicate looking to be the woman they all knew.

“What the fuck,” Bonny hissed, as the longboat got close enough that they could feel the tension leaking from those onboard. As soon as they were close enough, Flint turned and threw Rackham a rope to secure the boat to the jetty and then turned to help the blanketed figure up. Flint flinched back when the person literally hissed at him and threw up and arm for the lanky wolf to grasp. Rackham grabbed their arm and then nearly dropped it when their face turned toward him.

Silver was battered and bruised and smelled of blood. He pulled her up so quickly that she stumbled, but when he put out his hands to catch her, she flinched away from him causing both Billy and Flint to growl at him. Rackham jerked back at the same moment that Silver twisted to glare down at Flint.

“Shut it!” she bit out in a frightening tone, causing Flint to lurch back into the boat, before twisting again on one foot and limping forward. She lurched forward, reaching a hand for both Bonny and Max, who were there to catch her. “Get me away from him,” she hissed.

Max sent one questioning look back at Rackham before she steered their trio toward the tavern.

Rackham watched with both brows lifted to nearly his hairline as Silver hobbled between the two women as fast as she possibly could before he turned to look at Flint. The man was watching Silver go with a forlorn expression that he knew immediately would get him maimed or worse if he commented on it. His gaze went to Billy and found the usually levelheaded boatswain staring at Flint with a pinched expression that promised dire outcomes and violence. A final glance at the longboat’s last occupant revealed a very comely Abigail Ashe dressed in men’s clothes with locks shorn to shoulder length and a concerned expression on her face as she stared at both Billy and Flint.

This situation was obviously much more complicated than Flint doing something to piss Silver off; it needed tact and a bit of coaxing to make sure everyone was in their right mind. But when he opened his mouth, all that came out was, “What the fuck?”

Flint turned bright red eyes to him and growled low and menacing where everyone on the beach could see and hear.

And that? That was a shock.


	2. Bonny

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A little bit of Anne's perspective.

**_August 1715 – Nassau, New Providence Island_ **

Anne breathed through her nose as she helped Max lift Silver up the outer steps of the tavern onto the veranda then into Max’s room. To Anne, Silver had always smelled a little like lightning and blood. She knew now it had more to do with her _other_ sense than with her nose, but at the moment, the scent of blood wafting off of Silver was nearly overpowering. Anne was grateful when Silver lifted her arm off their shoulders and stumbled one-legged to collapse face first onto Max’s bed.

“ _D’accord, bien,_ ” Max stammered, her hands shaking as she took in Silver’s fragile state. “ _Es-tu blessé?_ ”

There was a muffled sob from the bed as Silver seemingly curled in on herself. Max shot wide eyes up at Anne before waving her back and carefully climbed up onto the bed with the broken woman.

“ _Que puis-je faire, mon petit chou?_ ”

Anne retreated out the veranda doors before she could hear anything more.

She stood there, just breathing, for a long moment, trying not to hear the muffled crying and quiet murmurs from within. Silver had always seemed strong, unnaturally so, from the first moment Anne had made her acquaintance. It was unnerving to see her so broken down. The feeling of unease conjured a host of memories that Anne would rather have left buried in her past but couldn’t help remembering.

Her childhood had been relatively normal, if not easy. She always remembered being hungry; with seven mouths to feed it was no wonder her farmer father had trouble keeping his unruly brood well-fed. She had three brothers and three sisters, with a fair smattering of both on either side of her age. Anne had been squarely in the middle. She’d learned how to darn socks, clean house, cook what little food they had. Between her and her sisters, despite being poor, they’d lived fairly well. It got easier when the oldest boy began to work alongside their father. And easier still when the oldest girl was married off. Less mouths to feed. From her earliest moments, Anne had been taught that she was to be a good wife, and that was what she dreamed of; a husband, a house and children of her own. She never hoped to be loved – her mother made sure of that. But a baby, someone to care for. That’s all Anne really expected.

A little less than a month after she’d bled for the first time, Anne was told she would be marrying a wealthy merchant, and that she should do exactly what he said because he was marrying so beneath him that her worth would be in her face and in her womb and how well she behaved. Her husband was older, not much younger than her father, but he seemed a kind man, always a smile and a sweet for Anne when he visited. Less than a month later, they were married.

Anne was eleven.

A year into her marriage and Anne had lost three pregnancies. Her husband was a brute and beat her whenever he was in his cups, which was usually. His beatings were to curb her behavior, he said. And to remind her that her only job was to bear him a son. Never mind that the beatings had caused her to bleed and loose those children; that was her fault as well. The whippings hadn’t started until later, after she refused to let his friends have a turn at her. They raped her after anyway.

And then, six months into her thirteenth year, her husband began beating her in a tavern for not sucking his cock under the table. Anne had curled in on herself, used to the beatings and the brutality that would follow. But just then someone stepped in and caught her husband’s wrist, taking the belt and breaking the joint. She’d screamed just as her husband shouted. Not because of what he would do to her, or in fear of what this man would do to her husband, but because of what was about to happened.

She’d _screamed_. Hoarsely. From the center of her. Until she was hollowed out and there seemed to be nothing left.

Then the man slit her husband’s throat and, before her husband’s body was still on the ground, held out his hand, his eyes blazing a fierce, unearthly gold. “Come with me, darling,” he crooned at her, as if she was a wild thing in need of soothing.

To be fair, her scream had rendered most of the tavern occupants incoherent, some even with ruptured eardrums. She hadn’t known then what she was, or what he was, only that he felt safe, felt _right_. She’d taken his hand.

Six years later and she still remembered that beaten down, defeated feeling that came with being a woman under a man’s control. To see Silver in that place stoked a rage in Anne that she’d only ever known when someone attacked Jack. Silver had seemed indomitable; she’d dropped Anne into the most restful sleep she’d ever had in Nassau with a tone, she supposedly gone toe to toe with Flint and Charles without even blinking and, from what Jack had told her, she didn’t hold grudges against them for Anne’s actions against Max. If anyone deserved to be given the full weight of her abilities to defend and attack that she’d learned under Jack and Charles’ tutelage, it was this woman.

With her lip curled into a snarl, Anne spun and nearly tripped down the stairs on her way to the beach, with every intention of screaming until Flint’s ears bled.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Translations:
> 
> “ _D’accord, bien. Es-tu blessé?_ ” – ‘Okay, good. Are you injured?  
> “ _Que puis-je faire, mon petit chou?_ ” – What can I do, my little cabbage?


	3. Featherstone

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> woof. or chirp?

**_August 1715 – Nassau, New Providence Island_ **

From the moment he’d stepped foot into Nassau Harbor, he’d heard tales of the fearsome Captain Flint and the men of the _Walrus_. Beyond occasionally catching his eye during meetings, he’d never had chance to cross the man’s path, and with good reason. For all that Augustus Featherstone’s name was mildly fearsome, as a turnskin, he was not.

One of his ancestors; a Spanish conquistador, had gotten pregnant one of the native women in New Spain. The child, a half-caste girl with pale skin and dark eyes and hair, was a pretty child but deemed useless and relatively overlooked by the conquistador, who stayed in touch with the tribe for trading purposes off and on for another decade, until she reached puberty and exhibited the _Change_. The father was made aware of his extraordinary daughter when she slipped into feathers right there in his arms. Unable or unwilling to claim her to his family, the conquistador nevertheless forcibly brought the young girl home with him to live in his household and had her baptized in the Catholic Church under the name Preciosa Plumapiedra. For the people of northeastern Spain, the little _mestiza_ was a pretty jewel to be fawned over and paraded out during dinners. She was taught the fine art of sewing and embroidery, and how to speak proper Castilian, French and even a little English. Twice, she visited the court of King Philip II. She was especially prized as a friend of the crown by Philip’s wife, Queen Margaret of Austria. But upon the death of the Spanish Queen, the Grand Inquisitor, Archbishop of Toledo, Bernardo de Sandoval y Rojas, went on a tear to cleanse the land. When his obsessive focus landed on Preciosa, she ran the moment she could.

Using what English she’d learned, Preciosa told people she was running from an abusive husband and was smuggled to England to eventually find work as a seamstress’ assistant in a prominent tailor shop for women on High Street. There she gave birth to a son, Caesar Featherstone, Augustus’ grandfather. Their blood watered down by pale English normals of sturdy work stock, Featherstone didn’t have the jewel-bright plumage that earned his great-grandmother her name, but he was still more tropical parrot than bird of prey.

Not someone who would willingly go up against a wolf in any way, shape, or form.

So, when Flint entered the makeshift meeting hall for the Brotherhood on a tear, Featherstone did the smart thing, and stepped back, taking Jacob Garret with him, to let other, more capable people handle the volatile Captain.

He liked Silver, even though she’d literally appeared on the island less than three months ago. Something about her presence settled him like only a good preening could. She brought a calm with her. It was strange, too, because she seemed to be in the center of so much discord. As she seemed to be the problem today that Jack and Flint were arguing about.

Beside him, Jacob Garret shifted from one foot to the other. He leaned subtly closer and whispered out the side of his mouth, “I though Silver’s idea was a good one.”

“I do, too,” Featherstone whispered back. “I don’t believe that’s what they’re arguing about.”

“Then what?”

Featherstone crossed his arms. “I don’t believe Jack even knows, but I suspect he’s waiting for Vane or Billy to finish disembarking the _Revenge_.”

“Why those two?” Garret mirrored Featherstone’s stance with arms crossed and legs shoulder-width apart.

“Very few people can go toe-to-toe with an alpha wolf in a snit,” Featherstone tilted his chin toward Jack. “The only reason Rackham isn’t in pieces right now is because Flint is holding back, and they both know it.”

Garret paled and took an unconscious step backwards while a snort sounded off to their right.

“You know he can hear you both, yes?” Mister Holland, the Bursar asked from where he was seated in the only cushion chair in the place.

Garret almost jumped, but Featherstone merely nodded. “I suspected.”

Holland raised a brow. “You aren’t afraid of incurring his wrath?”

“Something I overheard Silver say,” Featherstone shrugged, his sharp eye catching the way Flint’s shoulders tightened even though his back was toward them. “Flint has honor; miles wide and fathoms deep and sometimes over the wrong things, but it’s there.” He watched in fascination as Flint’s shoulders loosened and he actually took a step back from the confrontation with Rackham, leaving the other wolf flat-footed for a second before his eyes darted in their direction and his face marginally relaxed from its pinched expression.

Holland hummed. “Then whatever Silver is upset about must be deeply personal.”

And just like that the tension in the room could be cut with a knife.

Garret took an involuntary step back as Featherstone’s eyes darted around the room, looking for a feasible escape route that wouldn’t trigger the prey-drive of an angry wolf. Just before he was about to leap over a barrel to put something between him and Flint, Charles Vane walked into the room, followed by Billy Bones and a pair of wild looking men.

“Flint, you kill my quartermaster and we’ll have more than words,” Vane growled, his eyes flashing dark red.

Featherstone turned to see Rackham crouched with hands spread and teeth bared, staring wide-eyed at Flint’s face, which was thankfully hidden from view until he turned to face Vane. When he did get a glimpse of Flint’s face, Featherstone flinched and looked away. There was so much raw emotion on the usually stoic man’s face that even Vane paused for a second to swallow before he blithely continued forward.

The emotional freak-out at the revelation that both men were now alphas would have to wait.

“Well,” Holland murmured. “That’s interesting.”

Vane turned to the bursar who hadn’t moved beyond settling back in his chair. “I hear we have an agreement to agree upon?”

Mister Holland nodded and reached into the leather satchel at his feet to retrieve a slim, leather-bound accounting book. “I retrieved most of the details from Captain Rackham and Misters Featherstone and Garret, but the terms must be agreed upon by all involved parties before disbursement can begin.”

Vane stared at him. “This is about the _Urca_ gold?” he asked calmly.

Holland lifted his eyes to the usually volatile captain with a wary look. “Yes.”

“Who the fuck set these terms?” he growled.

Featherstone almost relaxed at the return of the gruffness he remembered. The man’s unusual calm and circumspect attitude had been setting him on edge more than Flint’s anger. Just as he unclenched his muscles, a low hiss came from the door where Anne Bonny stood with a bloodthirsty look on her face aimed at Captain Flint.

“It was Silver’s idea,” she said, her voice hoarse like she’d been screaming.


	4. Holland

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> dragons man... what you gonna do?

**_September 1715 – Nassau, New Providence Island_ **

Time moved slower for those that had great amounts of it. But even with the vast amount of time at his fingertips, he remembered a seemingly unending march of wars and battles and skirmishes and conflicts. His kind were loners, claiming a territory for themselves and defending it fiercely from rivals, often taking their names from the land itself. Only the formels had free reign to traverse boundaries, for there was no creature stupid enough to challenge a female dragon except man. He’d been a young tercel of three hundred years when his homeland in Frisia joined the Holy Roman Empire at the end of the 9th century and became a known as West-Frisia under Count Dirk of the House of Holland. A scribe in Count Dirk II of Holland’s court, he learned all he could about how to run a Duchy and run it well. By the time he was in his prime in the late 13th century, the Count of Holland was also the count of Hainaut and Zealand. By the time he reached middle-age, the province of Holland was part of the Bergundian Netherlands of the Hapsburg Dynasty, and was the dominant province in the north.

Holland.

He’d carved out a well-established home and name for himself, and there he stayed, slowly gathering his chosen hoard of profit and favors until 1572 and the beginning of the Dutch Rebellion against the Hapsburgs. A young dragon in his prime challenged him for the territory in Brill, and after a brief moment of sizing the dragon up, Holland left without a fight. Not because he would lose, but because he didn’t want to give the boy the satisfaction of a challenge. In the ensuing years, Holland skirted the established territories, often being invited in for his knowledge and connections but never staying longer than a fortnight in any place. He heard that the young dragon who claimed Holland from him had been slain in a challenge with an older male and the territory was open, but he had no urge to return.

He’d been among the first colony ships to New Providence in 1670 to establish a sugar cane trade when the town was first founded and called Charles Town, as so many English based colonies were doing. He was here when the Spanish burned Charles Town to the ground in 1684, he was here among the hardy survivors in 1695 when Nicholas Trott arrived as the island’s new governor and renamed the town Nassau in honor of William of Orange, soon to be William III, King of England.

Governor Trott was a shrewd, but ultimately foolish man who thought the threat of England’s wrath was enough to protect him from the pirate infestation that began shortly before the War of Spanish Succession. His reputation had not protected him or his wife and child from Blackbeard’s sword.

In all his years he’d come across a great many potential Sparks, with only about half realizing their abilities. Among those, only a handful reached true Emissary status who kept the trust, not the bastardized version the church has proclaimed are more like the wise men of the Druids, but true creatures of Balance. The only woman Emissary he’d ever met was called _Jacoba van Beieren_ , Jacqueline of Haianut, Countess of Holland, Zeeland and Hainaut and, for a short time, Duchess of Gloucester. She never had children, and her rule was a fair one until war with her second husband’s brother caused her to give up the rights to her lands and peoples in order to keep them safe.

And now Silver who was much more than the runaway lying thief that she seemed. She carried herself the same way Jacoba had, with dignity, learning and a core of strength. She was royalty of a kind; Holland would bet his book of collected favors on it. And like her predecessor, Silver had seen to the welfare of her lands, whether she meant to or not. She seemed to speed up time for Holland, and that was a novelty. Something to nurture and protect.

The numbers given to him by Rackham, Featherstone and Garret were encouraging, if slightly wrong. Silver was adept at numbers in her head if wrong in how she applied them. The worth of the _Urca_ gold, if calculated correctly – and Holland was rarely wrong in these things after so many years – was approximately at five million thirteen thousand, seven hundred and twenty-six dollars, give or take the price of a few gold artifacts. Minus the twenty percent Retrenchment which amounted to a little over one million, two thousand dollars, that left four million, ten thousand, nine hundred and eighty dollars. The current population of Nassau, not including the slave owners inland, stood at four thousand, seven hundred eighty-three, soon to be eighty-four for if the Mercer’s newest baby survived. Holland kept a record of everyone’s names and occupations, even those who were considered vagrants, drunks and those lost to drugs and drink, and he would be sure to set aside a share for them, even if it was only for funeral arrangements. Silver’s arrangement would give everyone on the Account – three thousand, nine hundred and eighty-five pirates – a second share, and everyone in Flint’s Flying gang, the crews of the ships _Revenge_ , _Colonial Dawn_ , _Fancy_ , and _Walrus_ – one hundred and sixteen (seventeen if Miss Ashe was included) – a third share. Standard practice among the pirates was equal shared among the men, a half share more for the weapons, ship’s and quartermasters, and an additional two shares for the captain. The Thrones would be receiving an additional share as well, which brought the total number of shares to eight thousand, nine hundred and two, with a value of four hundred and fifty dollars per share.

The wealth from the _Urca_ gold were truly astonishing, and at over fifty-six pieces of eight a share, would be more wealth than most of these people had seen, or were likely to ever see in their lifetimes again. In the days since the return of the _Revenge_ , the true scope of that wealth and its intended disbursement had caused havoc among the pirates who were used to keeping the wealth of successful hauls to themselves, never mind that if Flint and his Flying Gang were to do that then none of those pirates who were arguing to keep the gold for themselves would be getting a brass farthing. The situation resolved itself when Captain Charles Vane lost his temper and slid into the _Change_ , threatening the argumentative souls with a torn-out throat if they so much as looked at he or Flint wrong.

Which was another change Silver had wrought all unknowingly. Revealing the supernatural among the crew of the _Revenge_ was tantamount to giving the wolves permission, and meant that within a week of the ship’s return the entire island was aware that creatures walked among them in the guise of men, even if they didn’t entirely believe until they saw the inhuman flash of eye or fang or claw. A great many of the townsfolk had quietly disappeared, but an even greater number had stayed despite their initial fears, which was all for the better in Holland’s mind. A group of disparate peoples with a secret to keep was a group of like-minded people with a secret to protect. It meant the money would likely stay with those in Nassau. Pure profit.

In his well-ordered, if somewhat avant-garde life, little disrupted the flow of his habits like Silver had in the last few weeks. The first few days were in an upset because of her terms and the revelation of the supernatural to the population of Nassau. Then it was Silver’s absence from the meetings that interrupted his work. He had to go and find her, usually in the upstairs rooms at the brothel, to finalize any dealings with the wolves as she refused to come down to them and expressly forbid Flint from coming near her until she was damn well good and ready to deal with him on _two_ sturdy feet! Her words, not his. From the looks of her leg, it would be several weeks before she was up and about without the aid of crutches.

So bothersome.


	5. Max

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> This was a bit hard to write.

**_September – Nassau, New Providence Island_ **

It had been five weeks since the _Revenge_ returned and set the world on its head. Five weeks since Silver had taken up residence in her rooms above the tavern brothel and not come out. Four weeks, five days since Holland had deemed Silver’s absence from the Council meetings as unacceptable to his business-like mind and begun holding private meetings in her rooms with Silver propped up on the bed, her leg elevated and her back bolstered by pillows enough that she didn’t strain herself when she lost her admittedly short temper these days and threw one of said pillows at the dragon’s head whenever he annoyed her enough about shirking her duties. Whatever those were.

Not that Max didn’t have her own duties to attend to. The brothel needed a firm hand on the girls in order to run smoothly and just the way Max liked. Idelle was invaluable to her toward that end, keeping an eye on the tone and feelings of the girls, and the ways their hearts and purse strings were tugged. Of course the entirety of the population of Nassau was keeping their collective mouths shut about the gold if they wanted their share, so news that the pirate republic of Nassau had come into a spot of money had spread throughout the shipping lanes of the New World, and the sudden influx of men looking to make their fortunes in pirate gold had flooded the brothel with all sorts of rumors. It was a very effective way of keeping tabs on who needed to be silenced and who needed another drink to distract them from what was a little too close to the truth for comfort. Max managed most of the situations with aplomb. It wasn’t until the third week that she began hearing rumors that worried her.

The unholy regime of Nassau had somehow bound a sea goddess into her bones, giving the pirate republic more than an inordinate share of fair winds and calm seas.

At first Max scoffed at those rumors. But after the fourth week, when Silver still hadn’t shown herself to the superstitious men on the beach, the rumors started to gain weight. Max went to Able.

Able blinked at her in the cool dark interior of his new shop. The shelves were filled with all manner of glass bottles and clay jugs and the air smelled faintly of eastern incense and burnt sage, a common enough scent that Max was beginning to associate it with the man.

“They’ve what?” Able asked with a half laugh.

Max sighed. “They are saying that Flint somehow used the powers of his witch, the Barlow woman, to bind a sea goddess into her bones.”

“And they think this sea goddess is our Silver?”

Max shrugged.

Able chuckled, “And what does our Silver think of this?”

“I have not yet told her.”

“Why not?”

“ _Je ne pense pas qu'elle le prendra bien_ ,” Max hissed under her breath.

“That is for her to decide, _n'est-ce pas?_ ”

Max ground her teeth but didn’t respond. She’d learned quickly that Able didn’t rise to any kind of questionable response, he just assigned her menial labor instead of teaching her about herbs and potion-lore like she expected. He was a kind, but stern task-master and he expected a certain kind of behavior that was nearly the antithesis of Max was used to; no manipulation, verbal or otherwise, an expectation of kindness as opposed to her normal selfish outlook on life and motivations. It was a paradigm shift that made Max think, sometimes to the point of headache. But as she expanded her awareness of people and their motivations, she could see subtle hints that she hadn’t been able to pick up before.

Learning about the lore behind the myths was making her observations of people better, keener. It gave her an awareness of Silver’s motivations that she hadn’t had before.

“You are going to break the other one if you do not stay off it,” Max grumbled as she stepped into the rooms she and Silver had shared for the last five weeks.

Silver grumbled right back, “Fuck you and fuck Doctor Howell.”

“Six weeks minimum, he said,” Max repeated for the umpteenth time.

“And fuck your six weeks,” Silver growled and she tentatively put weight on her left leg, testing to see if the broken bone was mended enough to bear it without too much pain.

Max watched as she grimaced and shifted back onto her right leg before hobbling across the room using the table and chairs placed specifically for that purpose. It had been done by the fourth day when Silver refused to use the bedpan to relieve herself and had actually thrown the porcelain bowl at Idelle’s head.

When she wasn’t playing nursemaid to her friend and boss, running errands or reading dusty leather-bound books for her boss and teacher, she was helping Misters Holland and Scott keep a lid on things in town. Which ostensibly meant dealing with the pirates. She had a few guesses as to why that duty had befallen her, most of which ended in very uncharitable thoughts toward the gangly Jack Rackham who, now that Captain Charles Vane was back on the island, decided it was his duty to distract the two alphas by acting like a complete and utter nincompoop.

By the sixth week, she was done playing nice.

Her night had not gone well with Silver waking them both up in the middle of it by screaming herself out of her nightmares. Dawn had not treated her well because the merchants who had been paid to deliver meat and bread to the tavern had failed to fulfill their end of the bargain and she’d needed to dress herself well in an effort to remind them just who she was and who she worked for so as to gently threaten their continued health of the bought goods did not appear by the time she returned later that afternoon. She made her way onto the beach only to find that Jack and his three or four closest cohorts had taken up residence in Silver’s bungalow off the second row. So, she stopped by the launderette on her way to see them and was suitably unimpressed with the sputtered threats after she upended and entire bowl of soapy water onto the heads of Jack Rackham, Anne Bonny, Billy Bones and Abigail Ashe.

“What the fuck was that for?” Anne growled at her, using her arm to wipe the stinging soap from her eyes.

“The four of you smell like you have not bathed in weeks.” Max started through her teeth, lifting a finger in Billy’s direction when he opened his mouth to protest. “If I did not know better, Billy, I would say you are drowning yourself in women and wine, but we both know that is not true, eh? And you,” she flicked her fingertip against Jack’s dripping nose, making the wolf go cross-eyed for a moment before he pulled back warily. “You are not doing your jobs.”

“And just what, madam, would you describe as our jobs?” Jack sneered. “We’ve been told to hurry up and wait while our illustrious leaders decide amongst themselves how to divvy up the profits of our latest venture. I’m sure were all just as glad as Silver is to get away from Flint as-”

“And that is where you are wrong,” Max hissed, stepping onto the now sopping pallet, her shoe nudging between Jack’s legs as he winced and pulled back into Anne behind him. “She is hiding because she is ashamed, not because she is afraid.”

“Ashamed?” Billy stood, dropping the cloth he’d been using to wipe himself down. “She has nothing to be ashamed of.”

“Does she not?” Max bared her teeth at him. “Then why haven’t you come to see how she is? Why have none of you made sure she is happy and healthy? Why does she refuse to even say your names when before you were all she worried about?”

Billy had gone pale. “What?”

“She was _raped_ , you _baise enculée!_ ” Max bit out between her teeth. “And not one of you thought to remind her that she had people who still loved her!”

Behind Jack, Anne had ducked down and hidden her face. Abigail had curled up on the corner of the pallet, shivering in her borrowed shirt as the memories of her own rape bombarded her in the heavy silence that followed Max’s accusation. It was a frame of mind that very few men, especially those who made their living on the edge of violence, could understand.

That lack of control. That fear, the pain. The shame that comes after despite the fact that the women being brutalized have absolutely nothing to be ashamed of. It is a violation that goes beyond skin deep and scars in ways that change forever.

Max took a breath and held it, hoping to help get her pounding heart back under control. “When I was raped the first thing Silver did was put her arms around me and tell me that I was safe. The first thing she did when she found you, Abigail, was stand in front of the men and make sure you felt safe and secure under a blanket and behind a barrier. I do not know what happened on the _Revenge_ , she refuses to say, but I can bet it was not words of reassurance and safety, not with the way she screams herself awake in the middle of the night and then cries herself back to sleep, refusing even my touch.”

At that Billy turned a shade whiter and swayed a little where he stood.

Jack leaned hard back into Anne and cursed. “Goddamn that man.”

“I’ll fucking kill him,” Billy hissed.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> _Je ne pense pas qu'elle le prendra bien._ – I don’t think she’ll take it very well.  
>  _n'est-ce pas?_ – is it not?  
>  _baise enculée!_ – buggering fuck!


	6. Bones

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Oh, Billy.

**_September – Nassau_ **

There was a moment just before he woke up where everything was quiet and still and the world didn’t press in against him, making his skin itch with the need to move. He reveled in that warmth, that quiet acceptance, knowing as he did, that it was fleeting and would dissipate as soon as he opened his eyes.

Life hadn’t been easy for little William Manderly. The press gangs taking a boy passing out pamphlets against press gangs had not been the start of his troubles; that had begun when his neighbor’s daughter had taken an interest in the gangly youth who only seemed to study his letters. A merchant’s daughter and only child, she’d been spoiled by her doting parents. Blond, blue eyed and slim, she was the neighborhood beauty and expected to marry well, perhaps even a lord. All the boys in his hamlet had wanted her. All but him. For some reason that hadn’t sat well with Chelsea Sumner, and she caught him in an alley late one afternoon and demanded he kiss her. Will understood even then that he wasn’t like the other boys his age, wanking in their beds at night and boasting about nothing but their cocks to their friends as they eyed the girls walking by like they could see underneath their layers. When Chelsea kissed him, he enjoyed it, but had no urge to rip her bodice or shove his hand under her skirt, despite her encouragement of both. When he’d gently shoved her back, she hissed at him, her pride rejected, and told her parents that he’d forced himself on her. It was only after Will had shown up at her house, his father in tow, thoroughly explained and ready to give his hand in marriage to rectify the situation, that Chelsea backed down, horrified to realize that her father thought the match a good one, despite Will’s lack of sexual attraction to his daughter.

Less than a month later he’d been chained to the deck of a ship, his life changed forever. He’d been thirteen.

Fifteen years later found William Manderly, known as Billy Bones to the pirates of Nassau, storming a governor’s house to rescue the daughter of one of the most notorious pirate hunters in the New World while the _Revenge_ bombarded Charles Town to dust. He swiftly helped Abigail gather a few things she couldn’t do without, and a fair few things she could sell for a hefty price. He felt only a moment of shame when the pirates he’d taken with him into the governor’s house exited with him, carrying bags of her father’s things to trade or sell, but it was passing brief when he caught Abigail’s nod of reassurance.

“Good,” she panted as they ran for the shore. “I’d rather those things be taken by honest pirates than auctioned back to the thieving merchants he got them from.”

It wasn’t until he was on board the _Revenge_ that he remembered the strange wave of heat that had encompassed both he and Abigail the moment they’d touched. He’d seen… but that was nonsense.

“Where’s Silver?” he asked, only to watch Flint’s face fall.

In the aftermath of the attack on Charles Town during the sudden rush below deck, Joji stopped them before they push into Doctor Howell’s surgery. The usually quiet man made a habit of staying to the background until and unless he was needed, so it was a surprise to see him plant himself before the door in front of several his crewmates and captain. There was a dark side to the oriental; the entire crew was aware of his talent for extracting pain in a variety of ways, but Billy had never known the man to be protective.

“You will wait,” he stated quietly, stoic in the face of Flint’s snarl.

Flint made to shove passed him. “This is my ship!”

Suddenly Joji’s face sharpened, his eyes turned yellow and he bared sharp fangs. He shoved the captain into the wall and didn’t back down even as Flint flashed newly red eyes at the fox turnskin. “You will wait.”

Billy put a restraining hand on Flint’s shoulder. “What has happened?”

Learning that Silver had been attacked by Vane’s former quartermaster had not gone over well with any of the men. Learning that she’d somehow killed all three before falling unconscious only got a raised brow from Flint before Billy was turning away from Doctor Howell’s room to the captain’s cabin. It was there he found Muldoon scrubbing the blood from the floor beneath the map table, tear stains on his cheeks.

“She was curled up under here,” Muldoon stated quietly, without his usual ire. “I couldn’t get to her. She’d put up one of those ash circles to keep out the wolves.”

Billy blinked at the man, unsurprised to realize that Muldoon, too, was turnskin. Billy learned from the fey hound that the way Silver had killed her attacker wasn’t the normal way. She’d somehow blasted them into the walls. The bodies were lined up beneath the window, all but Vincent stripped of everything valuable and ready to be thrown overboard without the respect due a pirate from his brethren.

“What did this?” Billy asked, gesturing to the long cuts along their arms and legs. “Did she torture them?”

Muldoon huffed a laugh at that. “No, she threw them so hard into the wall that their skin split like thrown fruit.”

Billy blanched at that before lifting the bodies and perfunctorily tossing them out the window into the bay then turning to help Muldoon clean the blood. The next day, Billy nearly fought Flint for the right to carry Silver out of Howell’s surgery to the now clean captain’s cabin. It would be another few days before the men were made aware that Silver had awoken.

“ _Taking precautions against failure is not doubting your plans or abilities, you unmitigated ass!_ ”

The men’s heads came up at the shrill tone of Silver’s voice reaching heights they’d never heard from her before. And it was no surprise now that they knew she was female. She’d had no privacy after Joji and Muldoon had carried her unconscious body to the doctor where they’d found her leg had been fractured. Stripping Silver to find where the blood on her trousers was coming from revealed her sex and the men had promptly vanished from the room among a sudden flash of shame and newfound propriety where their revered crewmate was concerned. Surprisingly, it hadn’t been anger at her deception that was the most prominent emotion, though there was plenty of that evident in the ensuing vote for Quartermaster, but anger at her rape by Vane’s crew. Retaliatory fights had ensued until Billy put a stop to it by telling the men to take their dispute up with Vane himself or face Flint.

Flint’s response to Silver was a roar of words and accusations that the men couldn’t rightly hear over the pounding of their own hearts, only understood on an atavistic level by the way their skin tightened and the hairs lifted on the backs of their necks. They knew now also that Flint was a werewolf, an alpha like Vane with eyes red like hellfire.

They listened with deepening trepidation as Silver’s sharp retort to Flint’s words, followed by Flint’s bark, only to then flinch at Silver’s screamed “ _If you ever threaten me again, I’ll leave!_ ”

The ensuing silence was only broken by the sound of the waves being cut by the bow of the ship, the breaking of glass, and a _thump_ that seemed to rock the entire ship. The men looked to Vane who stared down at them with an amused expression from the quarterdeck with his arms crossed.

“Don’t look at me,” Vane growled and gestured to the ring of bruises that adorned his throat like a necklace.

Some of the men winced, remembering the brutal fight that had arose the first time Flint and Vane had disagreed just hours before arriving in Tortuga. There’d been blood and fangs and teeth, and though Vane had survived with his throat nearly torn out, he couldn’t go ashore with an open wound that didn’t bleed without having to explain. So, Flint had ostensibly won that argument and Vane had been wary of provoking him since.

The men then turned their stares toward Billy, who stood with his arms crossed and a slightly confused expression before he got it. Silver liked Billy, and if Flint wanted to stay on her good side, he’d behave toward their boatswain. Billy rolled his eyes and strode toward the closed cabin door, yanking it open and taking a single stride inside before he slammed his eyes shut at the amount of skin on display, quickly backed out and slammed the door shut behind him. When he turned to glare at the crew, his cheeks were flushed appealingly and his eyes were wide, though his mouth was turned down in disgust.

Vane burst out laughing.

Billy didn’t see Silver again until the _Revenge_ dropped anchor in Nassau. And then only long enough to see the burning glares she sent toward Flint who’d arranged for Billy and himself to take a longboat to the jetty where Silver had promptly disembarked without another word to them. He hadn’t made the connection then between what he saw in the captain’s cabin and Silver’s mood until Max’s announcement.

He didn’t understand sex. He’d never experienced arousal – he had no desire to touch or be touched beyond hand-holding, hugging and the gentle physical connection he’d finally found as Silver’s friend. What he felt with Abigail was romantic – he wanted to hold her, protect her, even kiss her, but he had no desire to shove a piece of his body inside hers any more than she did. What they had was sensual, certainly, but not sexual. And beyond Abigail needing the occasional personal time while bathing to find release, she had the same desire for physical comfort without sexual gratification. To him, witnessing the overwhelmingly physical _fucking_ between Flint and Silver had been confusing at best, and frightening at worst. He was ashamed to realize that he’d used that fear to justify staying away from his friend.

But no longer.

It took a whore turned madam for Billy to find his balls and enter Silver’s room above the brothel. He didn’t bother asking her permission; he just crawled into bed and wrapped his arms around her from behind, keeping her safe against his chest. Her arms creeping around his chest felt like forgiveness. Her face pressing hard into his neck felt like a blessing. If a few tears escaped his eyes when he held her while she wept, he knew she wouldn’t judge him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Please go [here](https://www.asexuality.org/) to learn further about asexuality.
> 
> Thank you for coming to my TedTalk.


	7. Abigail

_September – Nassau_

Abigail followed silently as Billy walked from the beach to the tavern, marched up the stairs and into a room without knocking, and then crawled into bed with Silver. She watched as Silver broke down in his arms like she’d been holding it in for too long. She watched over them while they slept in the hour after and only moved from the door when Max entered the room long enough to count the bodies before turning right back down the stairs and ordering one of the boys to fetch food for four. It took about twenty minutes, in which time, Abigail found herself perching tentatively on the edge of a chair placed oddly in the middle of the room, but Max returned carrying two trays as she bumped open the door with her hip and then closed it with her heel.

“Here, _Cherie_ ,” Max said quietly, her gaze darting to the pair of figures wrapped tightly on the bed. “Eat something before the pair of them decide to stubborn solitude.”

Abigail snorted, oddly charmed by the woman’s brusque, no-nonsense manner. “Thank you,” she whispered.

Max waved it away before setting the rest of the plates on the table, picking at the pork and chicken meat as she bustled around the room, tidying as she went. There was something calming about the petit woman, despite the fact that she seemed to be in constant motion. Her kindness was obvious if not ostentatious; she cared without making it seem as though she was owed for her attention. It was very different from the well-bred women that Abigail had been introduced to in preparation for her coming out to polite society.

Oh, she knew she’d been coddled and cosseted, protected as a young virgin heiress to her father’s substantial fortune. She’d had nannies and nursemaids until she was ten, tutors in all the gentle arts, including dancing and needlework. She could even speak French and Spanish, though her Parisian French was no match for the Cajun that flowed fast and loose on the island, and her Castilian Spanish was gently fluid where the brusque pidgin of the gulf was liberally littered with Portuguese and the local native dialects, so much so that she sometimes had trouble following the specifics of a conversation and only understood the gist.

She’d been told all her life that _what_ she was would always be more important than _who_ she was: a wolf among sheep. The Ashe family has always had deep roots into the supernatural society of Europe and England, ever since King William, Duke of Normandy landed in England in 1066AD and granted Count d’Esse lands in Exeter, Devon for services rendered unto the crown. That those services happened to be ripping the throats out of King William’s enemies while on crusade was an open State’s secret.

Her introduction to the wide world had been a violent one. Her chaperone murdered before her eyes and the blunt violence of a fist were her only warning to the kind of men who had taken her from the merchant ship her father had commissioned to bring her to Virginia. Captain Ned Low had been an animal; a pirate monster like in the letters her father had sent back and not her claws, her teeth or the threat of her father deterred his joy in making her submit to his depraved degradation. Her only consolation, small though it had been, was that the lowly captain liked to rape her in the ass with her face pressed harshly into the dirty mat she’d been tied to so that she didn’t have to see his face as he panted and sweated over her, and she would never have to worry about carrying his child. The first time it had happened, she’d blacked out from the shock and only woken hours later when a bowl of gruel had been thrown in her face. The next several days were repeated schedules of being ignored, abused, raped, pissed on, made to sit in her own filth and occasionally fed when someone remembered that she needed to eat. By the end of the second week, she was used to sliding into a kind of catatonia almost as soon as Ned Low’s boots were heard on the stairs.

She’d not expected those familiar footsteps to herald the arrival of fellow wolves. Especially not ones that looked like Vane and Rackham. She’d had no idea how to react to their nonthreatening overtures until Silver had turned her back and offered what comfort she could. Only then could the words Flint and Vane were exchanging break through the fog of instinct and allow her the realization that her tormentor was dead. The relief she’d felt then had been full-bodied and overwhelming. Abigail had been told later that she’d slept for nearly two days, ensconced in the Captain’s cabin of the _Fancy_ in the calm bay of Nassau before waking to find her fate had already caused a stir among the pirates who made this part of the world their home. To say she was surprised at Flint’s manner was an understatement of vast proportions. She remembered the journal she’d been given while on the journey to Virginia, the ability to write down her thoughts and fears and finally- _finally_ clear her head of all that had happened to her in such a short time, the least of which was the realization that just because her father was part of the nobility of the old world, and the final word of law in the new world, did not make him right.

She’d been raised in a world of wonder and magic coincided with strict hierarchy and social constrictions, and the monsters were not the men her father had made her fear, but the man she’d been taught to love and respect.

Abigail sat and ate her simple dinner of chicken and biscuits and fruit while a woman who had been born a slave, sold into prostitution and forced to participate in the worst sorts of degradations simply to survive had instead thrived to become the madam if that brothel and, even greater in her eyes, an Emissary in training, cleaned the room while humming a sea shanty with a small smile on her lips whenever her gaze strayed to the pair curled up on the bed.

“I’ve business to take care of downstairs, or I’d stay,” Max stopped near her chair but never took her gaze off the bed as she asked, “Will you be all right to help if I call up a bath for Silver?”

Abigail swallowed what was in her mouth as she glanced at the madam. “Of course,” she replied softly.

Brown eyes met her own. “She’ll not thank you for charity,” Max warned.

“I don’t think of it as charity,” Abigail frowned. “I owe her a debt.”

The madam held her gaze for a quiet moment before nodding decisively. “Try to get some of that in her before the boy eats it all, _d’accord?_ ”

“ _Bien sûr, madame_.” Abigail watched as the half-caste beauty left with a swish of silk skirts and marveled at the difference in their ages being only two years. Two years and a lifetime of experience.

Billy stirred when a pair of boys toddled in carrying a heavy copper bath between them. It took the pair of them several trips down the back stairs to the kitchen carrying buckets of hot water up each time before the tup was even half filled. Then another trip and another four buckets, this time of cold to temper the water, and a bucket left on the floor to rinse with and the bath was ready. Without saying a word, Billy stood and followed the boys to the door to close and lock it behind them. When he met her gaze across the room, his pale blue eyes were puffy with sleep but not half so shadowed as they’d been before they’d come. She smiled at him and he returned the expression, his shoulders slumping in relief.

“It’s fine, Billy,” Abigail murmured, knowing instinctively what he’d been worried over. Normally, when a man who is in a relationship with a woman climbs into bed with a different woman, there would be repercussions of the dramatic kind. Not so here. Abigail knew the kind of relationship she wanted with the well-built boatswain; the same as a normal relationship but without the sex or the difficulties that surround that act. They would be best friends, bosom companions, each other’s support and partner in life, work and whatever social areas living in the New World meant. She knew from the past few days that they were both very physical beings, and after the events of Charles Town, she was perfectly willing to take Billy as her lover – as in the man she loved, not as in the person she was currently having sex with. She wanted to embrace him, roll around in the sand with him, pin him to the ground and then plant a kiss on his nose, snuggle into the crook of his neck and inhale his manly scent, all without worrying about him entertaining the hope that their activity would lead to the removal of clothing or a relocation to the bedroom. She set her empty plate on the table beside the two others still heaping with fragrant food. “Shall we get your friend back on her feet so she can kick Captain Flint’s proverbial behind?”

Billy crossed the room and lifted her from the chair, enfolding her within his arms and burying his nose in the crook of her neck. “I love you, Abby,” he growled.

“And I, you,” Abigail hummed in pleasure as she wrapped her arms as best she could about his broad shoulders and tilted her head to give him room.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> _d’accord?_ – okay?  
>  _Bien sûr, madame._ – Of course, ma’am.


	8. Garret

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Coming up on the good parts.

**_October – Nassau_ **

Jacob Garret had been born in England, in the slums of London, the son of a soldier and castle guard from the crown. His poor mother had seven mouths to feed, so when a furniture maker had needed a shop boy and offered room and board for the work, he’d left home at the tender age of seven and hadn’t looked back. Learning wood-craft stood him well when the press-gangs had conscripted him onto a ship bound for the Americas. The last year had been a relatively easy one for Jacob; he’d been conscripted into service aboard the _Intrepid_ under Captain Naft, one of the largest ships that called Nassau home, but one of the least profitable. As carpenter’s mate, he’d been in charge of maintaining and fixing all the small wooden bits and bobs that wear and tear during regular use aboard. He liked his job; working with wood was easy. Working with the men aboard the _Intrepid_ was easy. Getting along with the men and women who called Nassau home was even easier; he found kindred spirits in the pirates there. He’d though he’d gotten his big break – to become Captain Jacob Garret – when Ned Low lost his head and he’d fallen in with Featherstone and Rackham. He’d been expecting to move up in the world, maybe even become Quartermaster before gaining his own ship when he’d found himself among some of the most notorious names in the New World.

What he hadn’t expected was Silver.

Oh, he’d heard of the _Walrus_ cook. What man or women in Nassau hadn’t? Who else could calm the fierce Captain Flint, stare down the wild Captain Vane, sidestep the grasping Mistress Guthrie, gain the wily Captain Hornigold’s trust and corral the recklessness that was Rackham and his shadow Anne Bonny? She near single-handedly made a whore Madam of her own brothel, wrought a cease-fire to the competition between Flint and Vane, brought an end to a pirate revolt on the beach and saved a legendary treasure. All within three months of landing upon Nassau shores? Jacob had expected a twelve-foot-tall giant of a man built like a brick shit-house with blood-dripping fangs, fire shooting out of his black eyes and a silver tongue making those around him dance, not the dark, slim figure of a woman hiding behind the façade of a boy with eyes the color of glacial ice and a mouth that seemed to never smile. The cold fire in her eyes and the silver tongue were the only things his imagination got right.

Silver reminded him of steel; forged in fire, quenched in cold brine and made to be slim, unassuming, and deadly. She was sharp, too, he could see it in the way her eyes flicked from person to person as they spoke, like she was sizing up a body before deciding what to do with them, how to manipulate and mold them. He’d heard about the fight against Hammond, Vane’s quartermaster on the beach; how a slim boy of a cook had trounced eight men single-handed and without a weapon. He’d even heard about the curse laid upon Hammond, the whispers of fear that followed when the crews of the _Ranger_ and the _Walrus_ had returned without their ships, but upon a Spanish Man of War, and without Hammond. It wasn’t until much later, after his time close to her in that bungalow on the beach, that he realized that those few hours in her presence had literally decided the future of the island. He had no idea that their conjectures and speculation about how to keep five million dollars secret on an island full of pirates and thieves would be the basis for the contract laid down by Holland once the pirate lords had returned to Nassau.

Now he stood in the Hall – if you could call a hollowed-out storage house something as grand as a hall – surrounded by the names that made Nassau a pirate Republic, actually getting a vote on how to run the island.

“Fuck me,” he hissed under his breath when the reality of it struck him full weight in the belly.

Billy Bones, leaning with arms crossed on the beam beside him, snorted. “Not likely.”

“Not what I meant,” Jacob said sotto voce. “Just- _Jesus_ , I was a carpenter’s mate last week.”

Billy chuckled, “And look at you now.”

Sitting crisscross at Billy’s feet and leaning back against his knees, the Ashe girl shoved ragged hair behind her ears and looked up at the pair of them. “Surrounded by _actual_ wolves.” She waved her fingers while saying the word ‘actual’ with a smirk on her delicate face.

Jacob glared down at her, not amused in the slightest to be reminded of their awkward introduction. Freed of the rules and constrictions of her delicate upbringing, the Ashe girl had run a little wild in the weeks following her return to Nassau. ‘Running wild’ being the operative term, as she’d literally taken to running barefoot in breeches and a shirt tied just below her breasts instead of skirts and a corset. Max had physically wrestled her into something like a vest worn tight over her shirt to keep her bits from flopping about and distracting the men about her from stumbling while drooling into the broad boatswain’s path. Oh, the men knew well enough by now that the Ashe girl was Billy Bones’, but tits made men stupid and Jacob had seen the flash of yellow eyes and fangs to discourage a wandering hand or two while Billy just laughed and smiled like the she-wolf taking off fingers with her teeth was the most adorable thing. The fact that he’d been one of those fools had been rectified right quick by a low growl that lifted the hairs right up Jacob’s spine and made him mind his manners with the girl, despite how she acted like an uncouth heathen while speaking the Queen’s English with a delicate lilt. She made his head hurt to think about and he wouldn’t thank her for it.

In fact, all the women of this island were a bit… more than he expected. Oh, they were loose, and easily loved for a price with sweet smiles and sharp fingers. He expected that. What he didn’t expect was the way they demanded respect at the tip of a knife held to a man’s unmentionables should said man take more than what he’d been offered. In one sense it was refreshing; no where else in the world would he find so republic a living, with both men, women and blacks walking around like they were equal despite the unfortunate situations of their birth. In another sense it was downright unnatural. Literally.

Since Flint’s return and the knowledge of the supernatural, Jacob had been more than a bit surprised to note brightly glowing eyes on more than just the sea wolves. Turnskins of all shapes and sizes were slowly revealing themselves to an accepting society of pirate scum. It was frightening and laughable by turns to see wolves frolicking with birds, a fox, a hound, a _fucking_ banshee and even, apparently, a gods bedamned dragon all walking upright in clothes like God had made them, too. It was enough to make his Catholic grandmother turn over in her grave.

Jacob Garret loved every fucking second of it.

Now, he was getting ready to be handed a literal fortune in gold coins, parsed out so as not to completely drown Nassau’s struggling economy. Frankly, Jacob barely understood the how of it even if he understood the why – people who had to work for money would stop working if they had the money, and he wouldn’t blame them, only bemoan the fact that there would be no bread for his supper if the baker felt no need to bake. He was grateful to the dragon for handling the finagley bits as it meant he wouldn’t have to put thought to it, even if the dragon was refusing to finish the contract and parse out any of the coins until _all_ parties had signed.

Which was what they were waiting in the hall for. Silver was finally making her way down to the beach after nearly two months of being holed up in a room above the brothel. Two months of avoiding Captain Flint and his new and improved temper.

Hell, Jacob was only surprised there weren’t more people hanging around the hall waiting for the inevitable show that would occur. Actually, Jacob glanced around and noticed the way most people were poised as if to flee, maybe they had the right idea.

He glanced at Billy again. “Are you sure we should be here?”

The broad-shouldered boatswain snorted. “Finally cottoned onto the danger, huh?”

“Too late now,” the Ashe girl hissed, whacking the back of her hand against his shins.

“Ouch,” Jacob winced and shifted away from her too enthusiastic warning only to freeze as a low growl rolled throughout the entire hall. He lifted his head to see Flint standing feet shoulder width apart and braced as though on a ship during a storm.

“Finally gracing us with your presence?” the Captain growled.

Beside him, Billy winced and shook his head before turning to roll his eyes at someone in the doorway.

Silver gingerly stepped forward, the _thunk_ of her crutch preceding her hitched steps. She looked surprisingly good; hair all combed into glossy ringlets, skin clear and cheeks rosy from the walk down the beach. Teeth bared.

“Fuck you, Flint,” she casually replied.

Oh, god. He was going to die.

**Author's Note:**

> Hang with me. These will be shorts (just a thousand words or so) but they'll cover the range of time between the second season and the third, as well as a range of POVs, just to mix it up a bit.
> 
> Ok. I got tired of Silver whispering shit in my ear. Help.


End file.
